


Bound

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Laxus's bed seems bigger just now than it ever has before, although that might be because Freed is alone across it for once, and more likely because of the way his arms are pinned up above his head, wrists held against the oversized bedframe by knots in silken fabric." Laxus likes taking control and Freed likes giving it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

Laxus’s bed is unreasonably large.

Freed discovered this rapidly, learned it the very first time Laxus brought him home and is still startled by the realization anew every time the blond pushes him back across the mattress. He doesn’t even know where someone can  _get_  a bed this size, so big it fills almost the entire room wall-to-wall and they can both fit next to each other without touching, if they wanted. But it seems bigger just now than it ever has before, although that might be because Freed is alone across it for once, and more likely because of the way his arms are pinned up above his head, wrists held against the oversized bedframe by knots in silken fabric.

He doesn’t try to twist free. The ties are too tight for that, he can feel without testing them, and besides he’s the one who asked for this, who had stammered his way through a request while Laxus stared him down with no flicker of emotion until Freed was flushed crimson all over his face and completely unable to meet the blond’s gaze. Then Laxus had smiled, slow and wide, and by the time Freed managed to look back up his eyes were so shadowed over they had looked almost black.

Freed is certain Laxus is looking at him the same way, now. He can’t sit up enough to see, can barely tip his chin down to stretch for a glimpse, but Laxus is moving at the foot of the bed, doing something that sounds like fabric rustling but is too far away for Freed to accurately identify. Freed’s left to shiver in the cool air of the room, lacking any kind of covering to hold in his body heat or to hold back his self-consciousness, just waiting until Laxus sees fit to come back to him. The air feels more chill with every breath, the temperature stealing away the radiance of his body heat, and even the soft of the bed is useless when Freed can’t relax into it, when every muscle in his body is tense with anticipation and half-panicked adrenaline.

An yet. In spite of all that, or maybe because of it, he’s harder than he’s ever been before in his life. He can barely breathe for the tension in his chest, the wild flurry of his heartbeat against his ribs, and he doesn’t know what Laxus is doing and doesn’t care. This is hardly different than the other’s usual behavior, after all, if made somewhat more explicit with the chill on his skin and the restraints at his wrists, and Freed is very good at being patient for Laxus.

He isn’t sure how long he waits. He does know that he’s nearly panting by the time the bed shifts, telltale for Laxus’s weight settling against the edge of it. The touch against his hip feels blistering in comparison to the cool of the air, drags a shocked gasp out of him as Laxus’s fingers push friction up over his hip and to the oversensitive curve of his waist.

“I like this,” Laxus says, considering, and then he’s moving again, shifting a leg in over Freed’s so he’s straddling the other’s thighs, casually pinning Freed down against the bed while leaving his hands free. When Freed looks down now he can see Laxus watching him, his mouth relaxed as it nearly always is but his eyes shadowed into something dark and unfamiliar. His hand comes up higher, follows the taut line of Freed’s waist around to his shoulder and up over the outstretched angle created by the ties.

“I  _really_  like this,” he repeats, the words starting to purr against his throat, and Freed whimpers, the sound of Laxus’s voice hitting that particular register and the heat of the other leaning over him too much to take in silence. That brings the blond’s gaze down to him, brings his hand down to press against the side of Freed’s neck and shoulder, and it might be intimidating to someone else but it feels like comfort to Freed.

“Tell me if you don’t.” It’s a simple statement, calm with the certainty of obedience, and Freed nods as quickly as Laxus speaks, agreeing with a speed he hopes underlines his absolute lack of doubt. It’s hard to put words to it, when his heartbeat is pounding in his head and his chest is too tight on want for a breath of air, and Laxus has only unbuttoned his shirt as yet.

Laxus ducks his head, a nod as slow on his part as Freed’s was fast, lets his gaze trace down the other’s chest as his fingers trail over the skin. Freed shudders, helpless to the knots holding his wrists over his head and overheated under the drag of Laxus’s fingers, and he’s blushing hot all across his face and down over his shoulders well before Laxus rocks back over his heels so he can see how hard Freed is. It’s not like Freed had any expectation of hiding it, of course, but there’s something different about having Laxus gazing down at him when he can’t even move away to escape from the clarity of his eyes.

“You look good,” Laxus observes, calm like he’s looking at a painting, and Freed has to shut his eyes and whimper something that is part protest and mostly panic. His skin is hot, burning with embarrassment and arousal in equal parts, and Laxus’s hand is settling at his hip, pressing warmth into his skin as if Freed needed any more of it.

“Are you embarrassed?” Laxus’s voice asks, the words ringing loud into the darkness of Freed’s shut eyes, and Freed can’t speak, can’t manage to put words to the tension in his throat. There’s a long pause, Laxus waiting for an answer Freed can’t give, and finally a chuckle low with understanding and the slide of motion as Laxus moves farther back on the bed.

“Don’t be,” he offers, and that’s an order Freed can’t obey, a command he has to ignore. He wants to apologize, wants to offer some desperate explanation for the aching nervousness under his skin, but the words on which he can usually rely on won’t come, and then there’s damp heat against his skin and all grasp of language flies out of his head. He’s gasping, his eyes are coming open; he tries to sit up, forgets the bindings on his wrists entirely, jerks hard against the bed while having no effect on his position at all. Laxus lifts his mouth, looks up to chuckle and grin at Freed’s wide-eyed stare, and then he’s ducking back down, tightening his one-handed hold at Freed’s hip to brace him down while he licks against the head of the other’s cock. The contact comes with a rush of sensation, as it always does, the surge of heat so strong it knocks Freed flat against the mattress, and then Laxus’s hand is wrapping around the base of him and Laxus’s mouth is sliding down over the sensitive head and Freed’s breathing is turning into overstimulated sobs in his throat. It sounds awful, like he’s choking and moaning at the same time; he’d bring his arm up to cover the involuntarily noises if he had his hands free, but as it is he can’t move, can’t pull back from the sensation flaring into his blood and can’t even attempt to hide the desperate wail of reaction in his throat. Laxus closes his mouth tight against Freed, sucks superheated sensation over the other’s length, and Freed is shuddering even before the blond drags his hand up, a quick burst of additional friction as if Freed needed any more encouragement. He’s already going shaky and unresisting over the sheets, even embarrassment insufficient to stand against the implacable pressure of Laxus sucking him off, and all that flushed heat in his cheeks is translating itself cleanly into arousal without any stop-off at composure along the way.

Freed doesn’t know what Laxus is doing. It’s enough that he  _is_  doing, that his mouth is sliding slick over Freed’s cock while his fingers jerk out-of-rhythm against his skin, that Freed feels helpless and exposed and  _hot_ , on fire with electricity and sparking with adrenaline. Then Laxus sucks hard against him again, a sudden burst of extra sensation, and Freed groans and quivers himself into orgasm just like that, all his self-consciousness giving way to the pulse of pleasure rippling out through his body. Laxus purrs against him, the self-satisfied appreciation Freed coming always draws from him, and he keeps stroking, keeps running his tongue against the other until Freed is gasping at air, trying to catch breath he can’t reach until Laxus finally pulls back and lets his hold go.

“Feel better?” he asks, and Freed hopes that’s rhetorical because he can’t offer words, can just cough a little whimpered laugh and shut his eyes while Laxus slides back off the bed. He feels drained, all the strain in his body grounded out into languid comfort, and now he thinks he could lie here forever, his wrists hanging limp from the support of the knots holding him to the frame and his body spread out across the comfort of Laxus’s overlarge bed. Everything is hazed over into warmth, until he can listen to the sound of Laxus’s movement without trying to pull it apart into meaning, can blink up at the ceiling and wait with absolute patience for whatever the blond has planned next.

He doesn’t startle when the bed shifts, Laxus leaning in from the edge to place himself in Freed’s line of sight. His shirt is entirely gone, now, the ink-dark curves of his tattoo spreading out over his shoulder clear to see, and Freed blinks at that, stares at the contrast between tan skin and black ink until Laxus moves and Freed’s vision goes suddenly dark. He does jump then, surprised into a gasping noise of shock, and he’s started a half-worried “Laxus?” before he realizes it’s fabric over his eyes, thin cloth catching at his eyelashes, and that Laxus is pulling the makeshift blindfold tight against his eyes.

“Lift your head,” his disembodied voice says, and Freed does, tips his head forward and up so Laxus can tug the fabric behind his head, set a knot in tight against the side of Freed’s tangled hair. The fabric smells spicy, the familiar faint richness of Laxus’s preferred cologne, and Freed is just realizing this is the blond’s absent shirt twisted over his eyes when Laxus asks, “Can you see anything?”

Freed shakes his head, feeling adrift, like maybe the loss of sight is making him impossible to see too. “No.” His voice sounds weird, lost and lower than he is used to. The bed shifts, the weight disappears, and there is a brief rush of panic, disconnect rushing out through him. “Laxus?”

“I’m right here.” Laxus sounds faintly amused, more emotion audible in his voice than Freed has ever realized before. “Don’t worry.”

It’s remarkably helpful, for such a simple comfort. Freed takes a breath, lets it out, listens for the telltale sound of Laxus moving, breathing, shifting along the edges of the bed. He can’t tell what the blond is doing but his presence is unmistakable, all the tiny sounds of his existence clear in Freed’s ears, and then the weight is back, at the end of the bed this time, and there is a touch at Freed’s knee.

“Spread your legs,” Laxus says, the words almost bored but for the weight of them on his tongue. Freed does, lets his knees slip across the smooth texture of the sheets under him, and he’s rewarded instantly with the warmth of skin pressing in against the inside of his thighs. It’s hard to tell for a moment what he’s feeling; he has to angle his knee, slide his foot sideways, before he can identify the friction as Laxus’s hip bare of the jeans he must have shed at the foot of the bed. The realization makes him catch a breath, some flicker of anticipation reemerging from the overheated wreck pleasure has made of him, and then there are fingers pushing at his knee, urging his legs wider and sliding under him to tip his hips up off the bed. Freed knows what’s coming, is starting to breathe harder from the expectation as much as the casual heat of Laxus’s skin against his, and when there is a moment of hesitation he takes a breath and arches up as far as he can with his arms twisted out of the way.

It’s not much movement -- Freed isn’t sure it’s even visible to Laxus’s eyes -- but it’s enough. He can hear Laxus huff a laugh, brace his hand steadying under Freed’s leg, and there are slick fingers against him, urging Freed open under the pressure. It’s easy to relax into Laxus’s touch, to give himself over to the other’s control in this as in everything else, and Laxus makes a low noise of satisfaction, a rumble of delight in his chest as his fingers sink into Freed’s body. Everything is heat, little shuddering jolts of sensation running out into Freed’s body from the slippery stretch inside him, and the friction is stronger too, or seems that way without the distraction of sight. Laxus isn’t moving very quickly, or maybe it’s just that Freed’s losing track of time with his eyes covered, until every breath stretches twice as long as it should, until the blond’s usual rough quickness is made taunting-slow, until Freed is going hard again while Laxus is still working him open with his fingers. Laxus makes a humming sound, easy contentment and warm satisfaction, spreads his fingers wider and pulls Freed’s hips farther off the bed. The angle is a little too steep, sends blood rushing to Freed’s head and leaves him faintly dizzy, but without sight he can consider the picture they’re making at a distance from his body, can imagine the way he looks tied down to the bed and tipped up for Laxus’s consideration, can call up the considering focus he knows Laxus has as he looks him over like he’s deciding how best to make use of him. It flushes him hotter, twitches his cock fully hard against his stomach, and Laxus laughs again, unselfconscious and rumbling, and draws his fingers back and lets Freed drop back to the bed. There’s a moment of relief, a pause for Freed to catch his breath as the pressure in his head fades to more comfort; then heat again, radiant against his skin, and he doesn’t have to arch up to know that Laxus is leaning in over him.

“Laxus?” he says anyway, just to feel the way the word tastes running up against the lips he can feel inches above his.

“Yeah,” Laxus says, meaningless almost-comfort, and then his mouth is on Freed’s, his tongue tasting out the edge of his lips as he shifts himself forward to thrust inside the other. The movement is too quick to give Freed a moment to tense even involuntarily; Laxus is just  _there_ , sliding slick into him with the unflinching assurance that melts Freed’s resistance preemptively. Freed lets his breath out in a moaning exhale, Laxus hums over his lips, and he’s moving, falling into a rhythm Freed capitulates to before he even has the shape of it in his head. He arches up again, tips himself in against Laxus’s thrusts and wraps his legs around the blond’s waist, and he’s rewarded after a moment by Laxus tipping his weight sideways to reach down and close his fingers against Freed’s length. Freed is still achingly sensitive from his first orgasm, shudders against the sudden return of friction, but that just makes Laxus groan appreciation and thrust in harder, pushing them backwards until Freed has to grab at the frame his wrists are bound to to hold himself still. The darkness of his covered eyes is sparking hot with friction, his entire awareness dissolving into separate points of contact: Laxus’s mouth breathing hard against the corner of his lips, Laxus’s fingers slipping easy up over his length, Laxus’s cock pushing deeper into him with every thrust.

“Freed,” Laxus is saying, hot and heavy at his mouth. His elbow is bracing just against Freed’s shoulder, he’s pinning Freed down against the bed as if Freed had made the least attempt to move away. “You’re beautiful.” He doesn’t make it sound like a compliment; he makes it into a statement, an objective declaration of fact more for the sake of speaking a truth than for Freed’s hearing. It still makes Freed shudder, the appreciation hitting him the harder for the casual tone, and Laxus is kissing him again, licking the reaction off his lips as he speeds the movement of his hips, presses in harder like Freed’s response is urging him on. Freed opens his mouth, breathes hard through his nose, and he’s trembling towards the edge again when Laxus pulls back from his mouth, groans an exhale and goes still as he comes, the tremor of pleasure running through him and vibrating resonance all through Freed’s skin. Freed gasps air, his body drawing taut in reflexive reaction to Laxus’s shudders as heat rushes out into him, and for a moment he’s breathless and shaking under the other. Then the blond takes a breath, takes some of his own weight again, and picks back up the briefly forgotten slide of his hand. He presses his thumb in against Freed’s cock, shifts his grip for extra pressure, and Freed starts to arch up into it involuntarily, desperately straining towards the last edge of friction he needs. Laxus groans at the movement of his hips, the friction it forces over both of them, and his fingers tighten sudden and convulsive. Freed is hovering for a moment, taut with anxious need; then Laxus shifts his weight, leans in a little closer, and Freed is shaking out of composure, wailing on the sound of Laxus’s name and coming so hard he can feel the ache all through his legs and jolting up his spine.

He doesn’t know how long he lies exhausted and overheated on Laxus’s bed. It’s long enough for Laxus to slide the blindfold free, to lean in over Freed and tug the knots of the scarf tying his wrists loose. Even after the bindings are gone Freed doesn’t move much; it’s easier to let his arms fall heavy against the sheets while he stares blank and unseeing at the ceiling.

“You okay?” Laxus asks at his shoulder. Freed turns his head, blinks vaguely at the blond; Laxus’s mouth drags into a grin as he reaches out to touch the side of Freed’s head. “Your hair’s all tangled.”

Freed hums, acknowledgment and unconcern at once. Laxus doesn’t pull his touch away; he just feathers Freed’s hair against his fingers, touches against the tangles like they’re worth observing. There’s a heavy warmth in his eyes, something bordering on visible affection, and between that and the sluggish drag of Freed’s thoughts it takes less effort than it usually would to find the courage to roll over sideways, to reach out to fit an arm around the blond’s waist. Freed can’t see Laxus’s smile, but he can hear the short rumble of a laugh, can feel the hand at his hair shift into a deliberate hold to pull him in closer. This near he can press his forehead against Laxus’s guild-marked shoulder, imagines he can feel the warmth of the ink against his skin. The weight of the blond’s arm around him is restraint in and of itself, pinning Freed down until he couldn’t move if he wanted to.

It’s not a problem. Freed never wants to move away from Laxus.


End file.
